Apples
Experimentally, she tossed the apple in the air. It rose and fell back comfortably into the upturned cup of her hand.
She studied it. It had a spot near the stem and two bruises. She put it back in the plastic mold and carefully picked a nicer one. Blemishes were something to be disliked.
She stared at the fruit wistfully. In her mind she commented on the realization that this thing held no memory for her. It did not remind her of summer days reading by a window, or her grandmother baking pie, or eating them in wedges at lunch in elementary school every day. She hardly knew its taste, looking at the glossy skin that seemed rather different from what her tongue and teeth vaguely recalled feeling. It was an object stuffed with white flesh, hollow and meaningless.
Turning away from the stands of waxy, plastic spheres, she rolled her shopping cart down the long main aisle. The crusted wheels clicked on the seams of the linoleum floor. The papery plastic bag, occupied by three apples, feebly tried to float away as if pinned down by the weight of the fruit it bore.
No comments:
Post a Comment